


Click

by karasunovolleygays



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: B-leaguer Bokuto, College nerd Kuroo, First Time, M/M, Post-High School, Wibbly Wobbly Canon Wanon, stupid pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26460289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunovolleygays/pseuds/karasunovolleygays
Summary: Bokuto does Kuroo a favor, and Kuroo does one in return. He just doesn't expect it to flip their entire relationship upside-down in the best ways.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 141





	Click

Kuroo stares at his laptop sitting open atop his bed, at the still-blank canvas in front of him, and mutters under his breath, “Shit.” With a flick of a finger, he gives the fidget spinner occupying his hands a brisk push.

It’s been almost a week since he decided on his mid-term project for his graphic design class, and he isn’t any closer to figuring out what the hell to do with it as he had been the moment he entered a cryptic ‘youth volleyball promo’ in the class’s idea spreadsheet. It seemed like a solid plan, merging his favorite pastime with his coursework.

He has the skills to make the damn thing. All he needs is a theme, a subject, to springboard this project into being instead of wasting another week doing nothing but wearing out the bearings in his fidget spinner.

Hours of trawling through every scrap of royalty free volleyball stock photos he can find ends with a folder full of images he will probably not be able to use and a heap of irritation that he only has a week left to get this figured out.

One idea does linger, with both an adult and youth version of a player, but none of the photos are quite right to execute it. If he could just reach into the screen to poke and prod the subjects into the right position, it might work as a silhouette.

His fidget spinner drops from his fingers and clatters onto the floor. “Holy crap, that’s it!” Closing his laptop, he tosses it onto his bed and vaults to his feet. 

Rummaging through his closet, way in the back corner is a shoe box. Kuroo opens the lid and examines the contents, a collection of things he wants to keep but doesn’t necessarily want to have on display. There are a few medals from school sports festivals, some ticket stubs from his favorite vacations and events, and a few pictures from back in the era when camera phones sucked too much for good photography. 

Most of them are of him and Kenma participating in various activities with different degrees of enthusiasm. Some of them are of his elementary school team, which is when he knows he’s getting close. 

At last, the picture that had jumped into his head, surging through years of faded memories, surfaces. Kuroo doesn’t suppress a grin as he eyes a picture of an eight year old Bokuto Koutarou, fist punching the air while in his volleyball uniform. Kuroo remembers him declaring their victory before the match had even started, and his own eight year old self had thrived on that confidence and their team did win the match and eventually the entire tournament.

Still beaming, Kuroo pulls out his phone and hits the fifth speed dial. The line comes to life, and a jolly ‘hey hey hey’ blasts through the receiver. “Dude, I don’t suppose you have any spare time today to do me a solid.”

“Sure, man. I’m bored as crap, anyway.”

Kuroo heaves a silent sigh of relief. “Cool. I don’t suppose you could meet me at the rec center close to your place. I have some work to do and you are my ticket to glory.”

“Well that’s cryptic as fuck, but I’m down.” Once he’s armed with a list of tasks, Bokuto says, “See ya in a bit.”

Stuffing a few things into his backpack, Kuroo speeds out of his bedroom and out the door to the bus stop. He makes one stop at a nearby department store for a few things, and half an hour later, he strolls into the public rec center where he had first stretched his volleyball wings as a tyke.

Right inside the door, Bokuto waves at him from over by the water fountain. “Hey, Cock-head, how’s it hangin’?”

The old woman at the front desk shoots Bokuto a glare that he ignores,, and a middle aged man claps his hands over his child’s ears to ward away any further outbursts. “I am excellent today, Bokuto-kun.” The words are ground out through gritted teeth. “Let’s go have some wholesome fun that involves no swearing in front of small children.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit, sorry!” He slaps his forehead. “Damn it, I did it again!” Finally, Bokuto puts his hand over his mouth and scurries off toward the men’s locker room.

With a bow toward the aghast onlookers, Kuroo says, “I deeply apologize. He’s just . . . enthusiastic.” 

There is no word for the bottled lightning that is Bokuto, but that’s the one he settles on before following Bokuto’s trail as fast as dignity would allow. 

Inside the locker room, Kuroo finds Bokuto wearing nothing but his jockstrap and underwear, holding up a fistful of jerseys in one hand and matching shorts in the other. “Dude, which one works the best?”

Bokuto stands like that as Kuroo drags his gaze from the photo to the jerseys. If he happens to over-notice the taut swell of muscles wrapping around Bokuto’s entire frame, he’s willing let it slide as part of the creative process.

Once an outfit is chosen — a Team Japan practice jersey with the signature red but without any logos — Kuroo thrusts a newly purchased volleyball (his own are all scuffed and beyond cleaning) into Bokuto’s hands and ushers him onto the nearby court.

Kuroo takes picture after picture, covering a wide variety of angles, in the hopes that one of them will be perfect. By the time a kids’ basketball team takes over the court, Kuroo is feeling good about this project for the first time. 

“Lunch is on me,” Kuroo offers, and a loud growl from Bokuto’s stomach accepts the offer quickly.

Seated at a noodle place they used to haunt together as kids, Kuroo slides a messy sketch across the table for Bokuto to see. “So, what do you think?”

Bokuto’s brows knit as he concentrates on the image, which is mostly words and stick people. Finally, he says, “You know, dude, this is cool as hell. Who gets to fist bump their past selves and have it slapped on a poster?”

“I know, right!” Taking the old photograph and one of the pictures stored on his phone, Kuroo pieces them together in a mock-up of the final product. “I think little you had better hair.”

The rest of dinner morphs into the camaraderie they’ve shared for over a decade, roasting each other as only long-term friends can do. 

After a few solid days of laser-like focus, Kuroo finishes his poster and turns it in for an excellent grade, The instructor even offers it up as an example of blending old photography with new, much to the annoyance of the girl in class who has been hot on Kuroo’s tail for the top spot.

That leaves him with about a hundred unused photographs of Bokuto. Some of them are almost identical, but there are a few on his camera roll that feature Bokuto dabbing, pinup girl poses, and a few other things only his large frame could render endearingly absurd.

Kuroo scrolls through them to delete ones that are blurry or have closed eyes when one in particular catches his eye. It’s one of Bokuto’s joke shots, with his hand over his crotch like Michael Jackson and his eyes fixed on the camera in what Kuroo can only classify as a piercing gaze.

“Wow, talk about dark and mysterious,” Kuroo murmurs under his breath. “Probably needs to touch up his roots.”

He sprawls out on his bed and drops his phone on his chest, squeezing his eyes shut until the image of Bokuto staring him down finally leaves. 

Nobody is that lucky, least of all him.

It’s been a few years since Kuroo had come to terms with the fact that his high school crush on Bokuto will never bear fruit. Despite it all, he can’t get the image out of his brain. Those eyes, that rock hard body he just happens to know is smooth to the touch. 

“Son of a bitch,” he hisses, shoving his hand down the front of his boxers to stroke his half-hard cock. Kuroo works his length until he comes into a hastily grabbed wad of tissues.

Arms played out, Kuroo sighs loud. “I am so going to hell for this.”

It isn’t the last time Kuroo ends up pleasuring himself to the photograph — or even the mental image — of Bedroom Eyes Bokuto. Organizing his image folders on his laptop. Time to jack off. One too many cups of punch at his parents’ hoity toity dinner party with friends? Time to jack off.

He isn’t sure which is worse: that he keeps on doing it, or his thirsty bitch of a libido wants even more material.

His opportunity to cast himself further into the pits of perdition comes when Bokuto shoots him a text a few weeks after the first photo shoot.  _ Hey, uh, I don’t suppose you can do me a favor? _

Kuroo’s brows shoot up in surprise.  _ Uh, depends on what it is. What do you need? _

A few seconds later, his phone rings and Bokuto’s contact picture of him doing a handstand against a gym wall dominates the screen. “Hey.”

“Dude, you are literally the only person I know to ask something like this.” Kuroo hears Bokuto swallow hard. “Do you mind taking, uh, naughty pictures?”

The case on Kuroo’s phone creaks in protest as his hand curls tight around it like a vise. “Do  _ what  _ now?”

“You know, the thing!” 

“Apparently I don’t know, and what the hell is The Thing supposed to be anyway? Try starting from the beginning and I’ll try to decipher whatever bullshit your brain is cooking up.”

With a deep breath, Bokuto explains, “So, there’s this guy who was on our team, but he got hurt and can’t play anymore. We’re trying to scrape up some money so he can get better before he goes and gets a joe job.”

Kuroo blinks as the information sinks in. One segment, however, does not line up against the other. “And where does smutty photography fit into this?”

“Oh yeah! The guys want to make a calendar to sell with all of us showing off muscles and stuff. We just don't, uh, know who to ask to help us out that won’t end up costing more than we make. We’re just B-leaguers, you know?”

Eyes closed, Kuroo counts to ten twice under his breath before he answers. “And you want me to take these pictures and probably put the print job together, right?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. We can pay you, but probably not a lot.”

_ No, no, no! _ the higher reasoning portion of his brain screams. “Yeah, sure,” the stupid portion slips in before he has a chance to consider the ramifications fully. “I can help.”

“Dude, seriously, I owe you one.”

_ No you don’t, _ Kuroo’s conscience blares. He can never have Bokuto in his debt when just that morning he cranked one out in the shower just thinking about warm water trickling down Bokuto’s tightly corded muscles. 

“No problem,” Kuroo croaks. They set up a date for the shoot, and Kuroo finally knows how long he has to live because this is definitely going to slay him on the spot.

That weekend, Kuroo shows up at the designated location, a secluded cove devoid of the usual beach traffic due to the location and the unusual cold snap. Kuroo doesn’t want to wander through cold sand, but at least he can get this over with sans audience.

He’s the only one there, but that doesn’t last long. A clamor comes from high up the trail leading down to the cove, and a flock of tall, noisy guys filter toward him. Spearheading the group is an exuberant Bokuto.

Feeling short is not something Kuroo is accustomed to, but one of Bokuto’s teammates is at least fifteen centimeters taller than him. Bokuto notices Kuroo’s awed gaze and claps him on the shoulder. “Yep, that takes some getting used to. He can block a spike flat footed, it’s ridiculous.”

“That’s a word.” 

But as soon as Bokuto’s there, he is gone, prodding his teammates out of their t-shirts and board shorts. 

Well, almost all of them.

It’s a face he hasn’t seen in a while but he’s a guy Kuroo doesn’t think he could forget. “Eh, Sakusa, I’m surprised you showed.”

“Under protest. I’m outnumbered.” Sakusa’s nose wrinkles when the chilly water laps up the sand near his feet. 

Kuroo chuckles. “Well, how about we do you first so you can run away for a while.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

As promised, Kuroo lines up his tripod to face the wall of the cliffs, and he guides Sakusa into place. “Okay, let’s get you paroled until the group shots.”

Sakusa sheds his clothes with a blush, and Kuroo tries and fails not to snort at the sight of pasty Sakusa wearing nothing but a black thong. “What the hell did I sign up for?”

It takes a well timed gust of wind and a strategically placed volleyball, but Kuroo manages a shot of the wind tousling Sakusa’s curly hair while he faces the sea. He can’t look straight at the camera, which Kuroo is almost certain it’s for the best.

Next comes the ridiculously tall guy, an amiable foreign fellow named Barnes. A lot less shy than Sakusa, Barnes strips before he’s told and takes Kuroo’s directions for a pose. 

Miya Atsumu, the baby of the bunch having barely left high school, swaggers into position. “I hope you catch my good side, Kuroo-kun.”

Kuroo shakes his head as he takes the camera off the tripod. “The more you keep talking, the more I’m convinced you don’t have a good side. Now on your belly, Dye Job.”

Miya complies, arms crossed in front of him under his chin and a startlingly attractive smile on his lips. 

Four poses in, Kuroo is finally getting into the session, enjoying the varying attempts at a sultry gaze. However, his good humor withers when it’s Bokuto’s turn to be photographed.

The early afternoon sun glints off of something shiny, and Kuroo stifles the urge to throw his camera when he sees that it’s Bokuto, his rippled torso covered in a light sheen of oil. “C’mon, bro, do me good.”

The words rattle Kuroo and the camera pops out of his hands. “You can’t just say stuff like that, man. Now, did you have anything in particular in mind?”

Bokuto shrugs. “I guess something kinda, you know . . . innocent? I’m pretty sure my mom wants to buy this, and if she sees my dick hanging out she’s gonna end me.”

Raising a brow, Kuroo scoffs. “Your mom is buying a smutty calendar with you in it?” He shivers. “That’s gonna haunt me forever.”

For better or worse, however, it does give Kuroo an idea. “On your knees and kind of sit on your heels. Yeah, just like that.” Without prompting, Bokuto parks the ball between his legs. “Perfect.”

Raising his arms, Bokuto pumps up his muscles and grins broadly for the camera, but Kuroo waves him off. “No, not like that.” He scrambles through the plethora of memories he has made with his old childhood friend and teammate. 

One concept surfaces, and it gives the exact aura Bokuto is looking for. “Make that face you used to give Akaashi when you wanted him to tell you how cool you were. You know, the kicked puppy face.”

Bokuto loudly complains that he does no such thing yet does it just as Kuroo remembers. Shoulders gathered in, eyes wide, a finger tugging on his bottom lip. Bokuto’s natural innocence shines through, but the sheen of his taut body emanates a sultry glow in contrast.

Kuroo’s entire skin tingles as he speeds through the shots. It will be a long time before he will be able to think about these shots, let alone work with them. 

After some group shots, their session comes to a close, and a thankfully dressed Bokuto bounds over to him for a bone-crushing hug. “Man, you’re the best. We’re gonna look so hot.”

“Yeah, yeah, now let’s get out of here before the tide rolls in.” The rest of the group had already dispersed, the increasing winds making it too cold for comfort, so it’s just Bokuto and Kuroo climbing back up the path to the top of the bluff. 

When they reach the street, Kuroo turns toward the nearby bus stop but Bokuto grabs him by the arm. “Hey, why don’t you come over and hang out a little?” Bokuto fixes him with a wide smile. “I really miss that, and I’ll be heading down to Osaka next month for tryouts, so it might be a while before we get another chance.”

“I — I can’t,” Kuroo rasps, closing his eyes to ward off the sight of Bokuto’s crestfallen face. “I have homework to do.”

“Yeah, I get it. See you around, then.” Bokuto offers a limp wave and meanders away with slumped shoulders.

Kuroo’s brain whirs at a rapid rate the entire bus ride home, but the common theme in his gushing thoughts isn’t desire; it’s shame. He can reconcile with the idea that one of his best friends turns him on. What he can’t deal with is letting it come between them.

An hour later and halfway through sorting the photos onto his laptop, Kuroo closes the lid and hisses, “Damn it.”

He runs out of the house to catch the next bus line leaving for the other end of the city, fidgeting the entire way there. Once the bus lets him off at the stop a block away from the Bokuto residence, Kuroo dashes through the swarms of pedestrians, ignoring the squawks of protest in his wake.

Standing in front of Bokuto’s front door, Kuroo slouches over panting. He’s here, but he has no idea how to proceed. ‘Sorry, Bokuto, you make me horny so it’s weird to hang out’ is out of the question, as is ‘I’ll probably be jerking off to the picture of you in a banana hammock later’.

The decision is made for him when the door flies open and hits him square in the face.

Bokuto gapes at him, frozen, before he snaps out of it and corrals Kuroo into the house. “Holy shit, dude, I think I broke your nose.”

In the kitchen, Kuroo accepts the towel pressed against his face before he wheezes, “Nah, it’s just bleeding. It’s fine.”

“I didn’t know you were coming. I was gonna go for a run and then I ran into you.”

“You can say that again.” Kuroo tilts his head back to stanch the flow of blood from his nose. “I changed my mind.”

Once the bleeding stops, it’s replaced with a bag of ice while Bokuto hovers around nervously. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll live.” It’s a half-assed answer, but it’s the only one he has and it has the desired effect of alleviating Bokuto’s nervous pacing. “Now that I’m not leaking, I can do what I came here to do.”

Bokuto sits next to Kuroo on the couch and watches him expectantly, and Kuroo doesn’t bother fighting off the rush of affection that flares up at the sight. It’s one of Bokuto’s finest qualities. Anything worth doing, he gives his all.

Finally, he says, “The reason I didn’t come over earlier was because, well . . .” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t trust myself not to screw things up.”

That laser-like attention snaps, and Bokuto scratches his head. “What do you mean, like stealing stuff or whatever?”

Kuroo laughs, even as it pains his entire face to do so. “Oh my god. You’re so cute it’s gross.”

Bokuto ducks his head. “You . . . think I’m cute?”

“Usually.”

“What about the rest of the time?” Bokuto leans in for the answer.

It’s one Kuroo can’t wait another second to give. “The rest of the time, you’re sexy as hell.”

Unusually, painfully silent, Bokuto turns away and stares at the dormant television set, face an expressionless mask for probably the first time in his life, and Kuroo’s gut lurches. He’s almost there. He can almost say what has lingered in his heart since the first time Fukurodani and Nekoma faced off at summer training camp over five years before. 

“I’ve liked you forever, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you knowing and being grossed out or something.” Kuroo mirrors Bokuto’s posture, waiting for the crackling silence to snap itself because he is out of words. 

Finally, Bokuto breaks the stalemate. “Man, that really sucks.”

Kuroo swallows hard and prepares to flee the house before the next half of that statement knocks him right back down. “We could’ve been hooking up all this time and we just . . . didn’t.” 

A laugh dangerously close to a giggle bubbles out of Bokuto. “Oh man, we are both idiots.” Bokuto swings a leg over Kuroo’s lap and drapes his arms over Kuroo’s shoulders. “Kuroo-kun?”

“Yeah?”

“I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

The answer comes in the form of a kiss, neither of them particularly good at it but Kuroo can’t imagine anything better than this. He latches around Bokuto’s waist and revels in the press of their bodies together. 

Their breath ragged when they tear apart, Bokuto slides off Kuroo’s lap panting. Once he catches his breath, he kneels at Kuroo’s feet. “Tetsu, can I touch you?”

“Oh hell yeah.” Kuroo’s head spins as Bokuto’s fingers pluck at the fly of Kuroo’s jeans, limbs responding to prompts to budge or move of their own accord. If someone is in control of Kuroo’s body, he doesn’t think it’s himself anymore.

Rough fingertips drag down the length of Kuroo’s hardening cock and his moan dominates the room. “Fuck, Kou, I’ve wanted this so bad, you have no idea.”

Bokuto’s hand idly drags up and down the shaft. “Oh?”

Kuroo nods. “Yeah. This is probably as good a time as any to tell you I’ve been jacking off to your picture almost every day for like a month.”

“Good.” Bokuto’s breath skates across the tip of Kuroo’s arousal before warm lips embrace it.

It takes two fistfuls of couch cushion and every scrap of willpower he has left not to plunge deep into Bokuto’s throat, but he doesn’t. Instead, his entire being simmers in magnificent agony while Bokuto’s unpracticed but enthusiastic mouth welcomes him.

When he comes, Bokuto reels back coughing. “Oh, damn! Sorry babe, I didn’t think.”

Bokuto swallows it and wrinkles his nose. “Yep, never doing that again. Swallowing is supposed to be hot, but it’s just kinda nasty.”

Kuroo cards his fingers through Bokuto’s hair, freeing it from its product-formed prison. “You could lick a doorknob and make it sexy. Just do what feels right.”

Capturing Kuroo’s hands, Bokuto holds them together in front of him and presses a kiss into the tangle of fingers. “I don’t suppose you, uh, wanna go upstairs and catch up on all the stuff we missed out on by being stupid?”

The words shoot life right back into Kuroo’s spent cock. “Oh hell yeah I do.”

With that, Bokuto scoops Kuroo off the couch and marches them up the stairs to his bedroom. Bokuto sits on the edge of his bed just in time for Kuroo’s incoming kiss. They topple backward, and every thought Kuroo has ever had oozes out of his head. The only thing in his entire world is the man beneath him.

“We missed out on so much,” Kuroo says against Bokuto’s cheek. “I want it all back before you haul your ass out of Tokyo.”

Bokuto flashes him a toothy grin. “We’re gonna do so much fuckin’, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, we really are.” Kuroo swoops down to snare another kiss, but he halts when he feels and then sees a dribble of blood trickle out of his nose. “Well that’s just rude.”

“Here.” Bokuto rolls them over, grabbing a couple of tissues on the way, and he dabs gently at Kuroo’s tender nose. “Maybe we should do this later.”

“Oh hell no,” Kuroo hisses. He bites his lip when the outline of Bokuto’s rigid cock grinds against his still bared groin. “If I don’t get laid, like, right now, I’m gonna Photoshop a Spongebob tattoo onto your picture for the calendar.”

Bokuto shoots him a mock salute and nods. “Aye aye, captain. Just, uh, let me take care of everything, okay?” Kuroo’s mouth opens to protest, but Bokuto hushes him with a single finger across his lips and offers a sheepish smile. “I hope you don’t mind getting fucked, ‘cause tomorrow is leg day and squats are a bitch after a rough dicking and all.”

Gawking at Bokuto, Kuroo gasps. “Just how many dickings are we talking about here?”

After rifling through his nightstand drawer, Bokuto whips out a thick dildo with a suction cup on the end. “Just this one. I’ve been, uh —” A hint of pink dusts Bokuto's sun-bronzed cheeks. “I wanted to save the real thing for my sexy best friend on the off chance he might like me back.”

A chuckle rumbles in Kuroo’s chest. “By all mean, fuck away. Poor bastard doesn’t know what he’s missing. Glad I could steal his spot.”

Kuroo shivers as Bokuto’s fingers drag up the length of his torso, dragging the hem of his shirt up until his chest is exposed. It’s all he can do to coax his own hands to return the favor, but once the broad expanse of Bokuto’s chest is unsheathed, Kuroo’s gaze fixes on every ridge, every plane, and he growls. “Holy shit, you are so beautiful.”

Bokuto freezes. “You think so?”

Gesturing at Bokuto’s chiseled physique, Kuroo snorts. “Well duh! You’re the hottest guy I know! I’d do jello shots off your boobs in a heartbeat.”

Bokuto whips his shirt over his head and flings it over his shoulder with a smirk. “You say the sweetest things, Tetsu.”

The drag of hands and lips on his skin amplifies, and Kuroo has to knot his hands in the covers to keep from writhing from the power of it. But stay put he does, a feat rewarded by Bokuto nipping and sucking at the newly exposed flesh of his inner thighs.

The teasing goads more and more lewd noise from Kuroo until he whimpers, “Kou, please. I’m dyin’ here.”

With a bite on the hip in reply, Bokuto snickers. “Yes, dear.” He pecks a kiss to Kuroo’s lips before delving into his nightstand for a sleek black bottle. “Have you ever done anything down there before?”

“Not much,” Kuroo admits. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

The cap clicks open. “Just relax and enjoy the ride, babe.”

Despite the command to relax, Kuroo’s entire body tightens as Bokuto’s lube-slicked finger teases his hole. A chuckle rumbles against his cheek, and Bokuto presses a lingering kiss to Kuroo’s lips. “I know it feels weird, but I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

Once again, Bokuto’s mouth claims Kuroo’s, and Kuroo groans into his mouth as the finger presses inside him. A single digit, and Kuroo can already feel himself stretch around it. He’s played around with fingering before, but what they say must be true:

It’s different when it’s with someone who cares.

Wrenching his lips free, Kuroo drags in a sharp breath and exhales with a growl. “Holy shit, that feels so good.”

“Mmm,” Bokuto drawls as his hand slowly begins to move. The pads of his effort-hardened fingers rasp against Kuroo’s insides, Maybe it’s that, or maybe he’s still sensitive from getting his first blowjob; either way, Kuroo’s entire body sings with every motion.

Another finger slips in beside the first, and the stretch makes Kuroo’s cock ache. “Fuck!” he wheezes, eyes screwed shut to slake the flood of sensory input overloading his brain. He’s felt a bunch of things in his life, a lot of them at once, but nothing has ever drowned him in pure sensation like this.

Looming over him, Bokuto chuckles. “Man, I can’t wait for it to be my turn. You are so turned on right now, your dick is already leaking again. Gotta admit, I’m a little jealous.”

Kuroo babbles in response, unsure how Bokuto can even string more than a few words together. His flesh buzzes from every move, every touch, every sound, every sight; words have no room in the equation.

His eyelids flicker when another finger pushes inside of him. “Oh god, baby, fuck,” Bokuto murmurs against his ear. “You’re so beautiful, I can’t stop looking at you.”

Kuroo’s desperate hands wrap around his cock and pump his length until Bokuto’s free hand stills the motion. “Slow down, babe. You’ll get there.” His fingers still, pressed all the way inside Kuroo, and they slowly start to spread.

“Fuck,” Kuroo whines. He tugs at his hair because he doesn’t know what else to do, every bit of him screaming, but somehow it only escalates with every firm touch.

“Just a little bit more, ‘kay?” Bokuto murmurs, “You’re gonna feel so good.”

_ I’m already feeling more than I can handle, _ Kuroo thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, he writhes while his insides clench around Bokuto’s rough fingers. 

It’s only when Kuroo is a moment away from knocking Bokuto over and taking what he wants that Bokuto withdraws his fingers. Kuroo’s breath hitches at the sensation of the head of Bokuto’s cock pressing against his hole. 

“Tetsu, look at me.” Bokuto’s wide golden eyes hover over him, that spark of determination Kuroo knows so well on the court. This time, though, the only thing in Bokuto’s whole world is him, and the thought makes Kuroo’s chest ache.

“I’ve wanted you forever, Tetsu.” Bokuto’s voice cracks around the words, and Kuroo knows the feeling. “I know I’m being super sappy, but I can’t help it. This is everything I’ve ever wanted that isn’t volleyball.”

Kuroo curls his hand around the back of Bokuto’s neck and rags him close for a bruising kiss. With their lips fastened together, Bokuto’s length eases into Kuroo. 

Bokuto swallows Kuroo’s ragged moan, and tears prick at the corners of Kuroo’s eyes. It’s weird, it hurts a little, and Bokuto’s cock is definitely larger than the average guy’s. 

Kuroo has never felt anything so wonderful in his life.

Fully sheathed inside Kuroo, Bokuto holds there and rains kisses all over Kuroo’s face. “You’re so good for me, baby. You feel so good.” His gaze locks with Kuroo’s. “Are you feelin’ okay, babe?”

“Koutarou,” Kuroo whispers. “Way more than okay.” 

“Good.” With one last peck on the lips, Bokuto says, “I’m gonna move, okay?”

Kuroo nods, and Bokuto pulls almost all the way out before he pushes back in with a snap of the hips. The slap of Bokuto’s skin against his is lewd in Kuroo’s ears, and he can’t help but shake with pure need.

Every nerve in his body is alight. Neither joy nor pain have ever encompassed him so completely, and with every thrust of Bokuto’s relentless cock, the sensation only grows. If this is what real pleasure is, he mourns all the wasted chances for them to find it in each other ages ago.

When Bokuto stops, Kuroo whines. “Wannit.”

Bokuto lets out a soft laugh. “You sure do, baby, I’m just gonna change positions a little to make it better for you.” 

Kuroo’s legs drape over Bokuto’s shoulders, and with one arm holding onto Kuroo’s thighs and the other wrapped around his cock, Bokuto starts moving again.

Past Kuroo is an idiot. An imbecile. A complete brainless fool. If he had thought he felt full before, it’s nothing compared to the rush of Bokuto’s rock hard dick ramming into him at an almost punishing pace, pumping Kuroo’s length to the same rhythm.

For the second time in less than an hour, Kuroo comes hard and fast. He’s dizzy with bliss while Bokuto thrashes into him to chase his own completion, and when he finds it, he drapes himself over Kuroo and sighs long and loud. 

“God, babe, you fit just right.” Between every syllable, Bokuto kisses every scrap of flesh he can reach. “I can’t believe I’m not dreaming.”

Kuroo tries to wrap his arms around Bokuto, but they flop uselessly at his sides. “‘M jello now.”

“Hottest jello in Tokyo.” Bokuto buries his face in the curve of Kuroo’s shoulder and nuzzles, and Kuroo can feel Bokuto’s wide smile against his skin. “Gotta clean up, but I just wanna stay here like this forever, ya know?”

“Yeah.” Kuroo makes one last effort to hug Bokuto’s waist, but this one succeeds. “Now I get the whole squatting thing, so I’m down with getting plowed anytime leg day is coming up.”

Bokuto raises his head and stares at Kuroo. “So, you wanna keep doing this, even though I’m going down to Osaka soon?”

Nodding against the pillow, Kuroo answers, “We’ll be good. We always have been. You’ll probably spend your off-seasons here because you’re allergic to housework, and it’s not that long of a train ride for a long weekend.” He chortles. “As if I’d give you up after all this, anyway. Since you deflowered me and all, now you have to make an honest man out of me.”

“At the moment, I think we should settle for making a clean man outta you.” Bokuto wrinkles his nose and his lips tug into a grimace. “Your load is sticking to my happy trail.”

Kuroo laughs until a few mirthful tears slip out. “Always knew you were a romantic. You say the sweetest things.”

However, Bokuto is already sliding to his feet, and he carefully lifts Kuroo from the bed to carry him to the bathroom. Bokuto sits Kuroo on the shower chair and turns the water on for a warm, gentle sprinkle. 

Careful hands run a washcloth over Kuroo’s skin, and if Kuroo hadn’t just come twice in rapid succession, he might even stir back to life for more. 

The feel of Bokuto’s reverent touch radiates just as much intimacy as their first time making love, maybe even more. Kuroo snares one of Bokuto’s hands and presses a kiss to the palm. He doesn’t say anything, since whatever comes out can’t capture the rush of pure affection, but when Bokuto smiles big and bright, Kuroo knows his feelings are clear.

“You wanna spend the night cuddling and shit?” Bokuto asks, and the serene mood snaps.

With a guffaw, Kuroo shakes his head. “I can’t believe you said that and I still wanna say yes.”

“Awesome!” With a fist pump, Bokuto turns off the water and hauls Kuroo to his feet for a smoldering kiss. 

Both of them elbow each other as they leave the bathroom for a fresh change of linens and clothes, and Kuroo can’t help but think that even after their relationship has taken such a sharp turn, some things never change.

  
  


**_Omake_ **

Both Bokuto and Kuroo hover around the box sitting in the middle of Kuroo’s kotatsu, with the printing company’s name emblazoned on the side. 

The calendars are here, and for whatever reason, Kuroo is nervous. He knows every inch of each photo, the entire layout, but seeing his work in print is a different feeling entirely than plugging it together in Photoshop.

Bokuto has no such compunctions. “Hot damn, I can’t wait!” He tears into the box and pulls out one of the calendars, eyes wide and glittering with awe. “You put me on the cover?”

“Hell yeah.” Kuroo picks up a copy and flips through it as well. “With that dumb-ass puppy face of yours and your stupid hair, girls are gonna go nuts over these.”

Nodding, Bokuto examines the cover like he’s looking at a piece of fine art. In Kuroo’s opinion, it isn’t too far from the truth. “I do look kind of awesome, don’t I?”

Kuroo bumps his shoulder into Bokuto’s and grins. “Always do.”


End file.
